


The Speaker - New Game +

by Moonfireflight



Series: The Abyssal Celebrant [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Claws, Consensual Possession, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Glove Kink, New Game Plus, Soul Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, also don't be mean to carbuncles, ascian claw appreciation, inappropriate use of magic, wol discovers she's a sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonfireflight/pseuds/Moonfireflight
Summary: An unknown event sets time back to a moment before the Warrior of Light begins her journey. Ascian meddling has forced her to face Ifrit alone and left her unaware of the scope of the danger they represent to Hydaelyn.Instead, Aira, the Warrior, must gain power in any way she can. Not to become a hero, but simply to become the powerful vision she's seen of herself, perhaps from the future. Well, and to get herself out of looming debt.So when a masked mage promises to teach her the forbidden magics she longs for, she accepts, taking them both down a path neither could foresee.(tl;dr, I wanted to write Lahabrea smut and it got wildly out of control.)I consent to the OTW terms of service and explicitly deny rights to reprint, share, or redistribute this work on any platform not owned by OTW. #





	The Speaker - New Game +

_ First Astral Moon _

Lahabrea stares up at the pale wooden beams of the ceiling above, wondering why he’s still haunting this place. There’s no need for him to sleep, and no work to be done. He should be content in knowing that their machinations are running smoothly yet this idleness eats at him. 

His memories of the time before are indistinct. There had been one woman though, who had meddled in all of their plans. Every primal brought forth by the foolish beastmen? Slain. Ultima weapon? Ruined by that _ damned _ blessing of light she held. _ To say nothing of her destroying the souls of two of his kin… _

The anger he’d worked himself into fades as quickly as it bloomed, here in a comfortable chair by the embers of a fading fire. 

He’s not even sure how there was a time before or the reason behind this second chance. It makes no sense with all he knows of the laws of this shattered star and beyond. Even with his people at their full power, resetting time, starting over, should have been impossible. 

Yet, here they are. 

***

_ This time the vision was silent and indistinct. There was a magnificent, shining crystal in an endless sea of light, though it had not the strength to speak to her. She glimpsed her future-self, clad in resplendent robes of black, wielding a staff that radiated power, runes crawling across its surface like an agitated den of snakes. Her heart quickened at the sight of vague winged shadows that followed in her mirror’s wake. Another figure appeared in the distance, also in black, but her attention was drawn by her future-self pointing upwards with a look of horror on her face. _

_ There was no sky in that theoretical space, yet undulating grey clouds twisted around a nexus of utter chaos. A flash of orange light heralded the first meteor, silently screaming past her in a plume of flame and sickly smoke. Overwhelming dread gripped her heart, dragging her down and backward, out of the vision and away from the comet that seemed to set its sights on her. _

“You alright, ‘venturer? Pale as a ghost y’are, and you were shakin’ in your sleep.”

She cringes from the smell that lingers in her nostrils - The greasy smoke of burning flesh laced with something acrid and poisonous. “S’fine. Just a dream.” 

The merchant sighs and leans back in his carriage. As they weave through the last stretch to Ul’dah, the harsh sun of Thanalan turns the adventurer’s tears into crystalline jewels upon her face. 

Everyone had their demons, but by the way she had wailed in her sleep, he decides he’s better off not knowing the ones that dog his passenger’s dreams. 

_ Sixth Umbral Moon _

Every ragged gulp of air sears Aira’s throat as she wills her breathing to slow. Heart pounding, blood roaring from the thrill of battle still coursing through her veins, she stands, staff heavy in her hands. Smoke trickles up from her singed sleeve where Ifrit’s flames had nearly scorched her arm. It was all too easy for her to imagine the blackened and twisted wreck it would have been if she hadn’t dodged just so. She wipes the sweat and grit from her brow, replacing it with smears of ash. 

Once during the struggle with the Fire Primal, she had caught sight of a shadowed figure high up on a ledge of the creature’s lair. But having been forced to fight the beast alone, she had no time to think on it, other than hoping it wasn’t a foe. Having caught her breath, she looks up to where he was, only to see him vanish in a puff of darkness and appear again some few feet away from her. 

Out of the shadows steps a figure wearing ornate black mage’s robes. His face is hidden by his hood and a mask like none she’s seen before. It’s pure red with a shape that hints at fangs and glaring black pits that completely hide the eyes behind it. The only skin she can see is the lower half of a face which bears a lopsided smile. The figure begins to clap - a slow and perhaps sarcastic display. 

“Who are you,” she hisses through parched lips 

With a minuscule tilt of his head, the mage replies, “Merely an observer. Having heard so much about a great hero on the rise, I had to see for myself.” 

She huffs in irritation. “I am no hero.” 

“Really? The people have such high hopes for you, Aira.” He, she assumes from the voice, continues, arms spread wide above his head. “She who will save us from the Primal menace! Perhaps she’ll go on to free us from the clutches of the Garlean Empire!”

With a shake of her head, she says, “This is ridiculous. I’m just an adventurer with a debt to pay off.” 

He takes a few steps forward and she watches the fading fires of Ifrit’s domain dance along the golden spines of his ornate pauldrons. It’s almost hypnotizing and tickles at a memory, though she is sure she’s never seen anything like it. “Then,” he says, his voice a low and conspiratorial hiss. “I propose an alternative.” 

The mage holds out a hand, giving her a clearer view of the long metal claws on his first two fingers and his thumb. In his palm there rests a crystal. Its pitch-black depths seem to devour the firelight, showing only the faintest outline against the man’s black glove. “What is this?” she asks, even as she takes a single step towards him, close enough now to reach out and claim it. 

“It is a crystal of Dark aether. With it, you may reach new echelons of power. You wield black magics, yes?” 

Dark aether… the Void. Despite the warnings of her teachers she had read voraciously about the society of Mhach, her curiosity always drawing her back to contemplate the Void and its denizens. If she could but become powerful enough to take on more dangerous tasks and hunt down notorious monsters, earning the gil she needed would be a simple thing… and incredibly dangerous. “I do.” Those seething depths of the crystal demand her full attention. The longer she looks the more it seems like a living, breathing thing. “But I’m still learning. I wouldn’t know how to work with something like that.” _ Not safely, anyway. _

He keeps his hand out, letting the crystal speak for itself in its unfathomable way. “I can teach you how to master it. I can educate you on the true meanings of astral fire and umbral ice.” With his other hand outstretched to his side, he summons up both elements, letting them twist and twirl in a rising spiral. “Or, perhaps you seek other forms of magic…” The conjured patterns collapse and he draws a vertical line in the air with a single claw. It parts space and reveals the heart of a darkened library filled with ancient tomes. Aira can feel the power radiating from their innumerable pages and the thought of having access to that much arcane knowledge makes her chest flutter. 

Why would such an accomplished mage be interested in her, she wonders? “And what would you ask of me in return?” 

“Simply that you don’t let such obvious,” he takes a breath at the effort of keeping a sardonic edge from this tone, “...magical talent go to waste.” Though he preferred direct action to scheming, he’d been informed in no uncertain terms that crushing her like some vilekin before she reached her full power would upset the balance beyond their ability to repair it, putting their plans at risk. However, denying her the full potential of that _ parasite’s blessing _ and keeping her distracted… that is the task that had fallen to him. Her interest in forbidden magics, dabbling in links between thaumaturgy and the summoning arts, is too perfect an opportunity to let go. 

He can see it in her eyes - Her curiosity. Her lust for knowledge and power. At her sides, her fingers flex as she fights her desire to claim his gift. Watching this charade leaves Lahabrea with the urge to grasp her hand and force her to take the crystal. It’s inevitable and he’s already bored of the coy denial she’s about to put them both through. 

“You would teach me how to harness its powers?”

His mask conceals the surprised widening of his eyes. Would she really agree so readily? Was Hydaelyn still so weak that she had not warned her chosen of the danger? “Yes, and of many things beyond that. Anything you wish to know that is within my ability to teach.” Though it had been thousands of years since he last stood before a classroom of eager young students, he was confident that he could play the role again - at least long enough to throw history off course. 

Aira begins to reach forward, then withdraws her hand again. Ah, here it comes. “I mean no disrespect but I’ve not seen garb like yours before. May I first know your name and affiliation?” 

Remarkably pragmatic. Good. “That is a fair question. As for my affiliation, there is a need for secrecy, as you can imagine. Should we reach an agreement, I will explain it to you in time.” Holding the crystal to his chest, he bows deeply. “I am called Lahabrea.” He grits his teeth and vows that this is the last time he will bend to her. This charade is only starting and he’s ready to be done with it. 

“Fair enough. I accept your offer,” she said, nodding. There is no sign that she is anything but sincere. _ Then she truly recalled nothing of them. Interesting _. 

Lahabrea presents her with the crystal once more. Fearless, she reaches past his decorative claws and gingerly plucks the stone from his gloved palm. The darkness within pulses when she touches it, sending a brief shiver of aetheric energy through her. Once in hand, she can see a black cord affixed to it, allowing it to be worn as a necklace. She looks to him in askance. “Do not put it on just yet. Keep it hidden, and when you are ready to begin, take it out and speak my name.” 

Their accord reached, they part ways. The fledgling adventurer leaves Ifrit’s sulfurous lair for the wintery cold and sunlight, shivering in her robes even in the deserts of Thanalan. She’ll make her report and hopefully a decent sum of gil for having slain the Primal. 

On the scorched ground there lies a crystal the color of garnet, firelight glinting over each facet and point. A swift kick from a black boot sends it skittering into a dark corner of the cave, and Lahabrea finally lets out the manic laugh he’s been holding back. 

***

The crystal weighs heavy in Aira’s hand though it’s scarcely larger than an acorn. In the light of her room, its finely faceted form gleams a dark purple she’s never encountered in nature nor market stalls. At its core there breathes a darkness that speaks of the night sky - a pitch-black nothingness that seems to breathe and fluctuate if she stares at it for too long. She averts her eyes from it once she feels it start to tug at her mind and her attention. 

Two days ago the mysterious masked mage gifted her with this crystal. For two days she’s researched everything she can about items like this - nothing - and the robes and mask he wore - vague rumors at best. Even the oldest books that the mages of the Arrzaneth Ossuary could be talked into loaning her told her nothing. 

Aira can find no reason to trust the man nor enough evidence to completely deny him. As she had told the merchant that brought her to Ul’dah, she was driven by a craving for power, hence choosing the desert city as her temporary home. Any oaf can learn to wield an axe or a lance but to learn the secrets of the universe through pure magic… to become that vision of her future self...

A shiver runs through her body and can no longer deny that she wants to learn what this Lahabrea knows. Besides, it would be much safer to study under someone skilled than to fool around piecing together ancient rituals from crumbling texts. An unguided journey through forbidden magics could very easily end in death or worse. 

So on this night, she stands before the open window of her rented inn room with a crystal of pure Dark aether in her hands. To the crystal, to the night, she whispers, “Lahabrea.” 

Her skin prickles as a wave of aetheric disturbance passes over and through her. Residual energy clings like morning fog laying low over the cluttered floor of the Shroud. There’s a scent to it that resembles rain shot through with the aftermath of a lightning strike - clean and primal with a dusting of ash. 

She turns, and the candlelight in her room dims and wavers as a rift cuts its way into the air before her. Tendrils of Dark aether - black laced with purple and deep red- well up from the rift, creeping outward like seeking vines. She’s standing so close she can feel it as it seems to lap at her flesh, caressing her arms, her cheek, before it retreats to form a shadowy humanoid shape. The power, the strangeness of it wakes something shivering within her. 

The first things to resolve from the roiling darkness are the metal pauldrons that adorn his shoulders, golden arcs and threatening spines. A black-gloved hand graced with metal talons appears inches from her face, drawing in one finger at a time as if plucking her very essence from the air. She tries not to flinch, but by his laughter, even from behind the mask of Dalamud red he’s seen every tell of her fear. The rest of his form coalesces at last, revealing the smug grin on his lips. 

Though she cannot see his eyes to confirm her suspicions, she can feel his gaze evaluating every inch of her form, physically, aetherically. It feels like an invasion, much more intimate than some random stranger on the street eyeing her. Her stomach drops as fear begins to pool within her, but she forces herself to focus on her goal and to breathe. _ No, this wasn’t a mistake. This is an opportunity you can’t let go. Cling to that craving for knowledge and you can make it through this _. As she forces her mindset to shift, trepidation works a strange alchemy within her, turning into an interest several steps past mere curiosity toward this man. 

Finally, he breaks the silence. “So. You are ready to begin, then?” 

_ Please don’t let my voice tremble! _“Yes, I am.”

His hood shadows the unmoving venomous glare of his mask as he nods. “Good,” he says, a faint smile showing between crimson fangs. “Let us start by establishing a baseline. Speak not of thaumaturgy, as any fool with enough coin can convince those charlatans here to teach them a few petty tricks. What else have you learned?”

That he considers the magics she’d toppled Ifrit with on her own to be “petty tricks” was to be expected, and the promise of learning from a master makes it difficult for her to find her voice. “Very little in practice so far.” Lahabrea snorts in disdain, and she scrambles to regain his interest. “Wait, but let me show you what I’ve been working on. Before I came to Ul’dah, I learned the fundamentals of arcanistry.” She sets down the crystal and pulls a well-worn grimoire from its place on her bookshelf and flips it open. Without seeing the page, the intricate geometries within seem to glow upon the inside of her eyelids, reflecting deep in her mind and far beyond. Summoning the carbuncle that pops into existence is the easy part, even when facing Lahabrea’s tight frown. “But combining the two paths is what I’m trying to do,” she says in a rush. 

The blue aetherial creature at her feet paws at the tile floor, looking up at its master with its long ears twitching, tail low to the ground. Behind his mask, Lahabrea raises an eyebrow, waiting to be impressed. What could be setting this familiar creature so on edge? 

Aira eyes her own outstretched hand with an unfocused gaze and nothing happens for a long moment. Then there’s a spark, and the carbuncle’s ears go flat against its head. It presses its belly to the floor, quivering. The spark ignites and a flame sputters to life in Aira’s palm. It’s a weak and fitful thing, but Lahabrea understands the implications of her wielding two schools of magic at once. For her lack of experience, it is an impressive feat. “Interesting,” he remarks, drawing the word out over a full breath. 

At his acknowledgement, she closes her fist and extinguishes the conjured flame. With a wave of her hand, the blue creature at her feet leaps into the air and folds in upon itself, vanishing, and she lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping from the effort. “I must know then,” he says, holding a finger up as though testing the wind, “how your interest in the Void factors into your studies.” She notes that his voice has lost some of its patronizing edge. 

“You saw the way the carbuncle reacted, of course. There’s a fundamental incompatibility with me using umbral or astral magics with it bound to me. The summoned creature is of no use if it’s cowering and unable to act. I had thought that... were it possible to harness the power of a creature of the Void in a similar manner… though only the mages of Mhach managed something like that, as far as I am aware.” 

Lahabrea nods in agreement, though she is only partially correct. “A viable theory, yes. Have you managed to make contact with the Void in your experiments?” There’s the faintest hint of voidal essence that lingers in the heaviest shadows here, whispering of late nights of mumbled incantations from forbidden tomes. The image of her fervently working to divine the missing pieces of magical formulae and patterns, willing her mana to take on the form she held in her mind… it tugs at a distant memory, but not quite hard enough to drag it fully into the light of his consciousness. Instead, it lurks there out of reach, tickling at the back of his mind. 

She sighs. “Yes, but barely.”

“You fear success.” 

His words strike home. It’s true. She recalls a moonless night when she’d managed to open a tiny rift in this very room. From beyond that tear in space, untold numbers of fiends shrieked and wailed, slithered and hissed. She’d severed the connection the second she regained her senses, spending the rest of the night making sure the fireplace never lost its glow. “Yes.” 

In her _ infinite _ wisdom, Hydaelyn had chosen this woman, a power hungry seeker of pitch-black ancient magics, as her _ hero _ . It was unfathomable. Had the Warrior been like this before whatever temporal anomaly granted them a chance at a second meeting? It didn’t really matter, did it? Even that iteration of the timeline would be as crumbs at Zodiark’s inevitable feast, and this woman’s will to forge a new path had brought her neatly into his hands. _ His _ hands _ . Yes. _

That curious brilliance flashed behind her eyes again, and he has to resist the urge to confirm his mask is still in place, so keenly does she meet his gaze. “The way you travel is different from typical aetheric teleportation. I had thought perhaps you traversed the Void… But, well, you already know I’ve been studying that realm, and the energy is not the same. What are you?”

Lahabrea tilts his head slightly, finding her directness, her intelligence… interesting. Even with a second chance, he’d underestimated this woman. Perhaps they can skip the lectures and move on to the real work sooner rather than later. He can’t help but press the matter. “Were you to understand my nature, you would begin to question many of the beliefs you hold dear.”

His promises, his threats…She finds she wants it all. Beneath the mask, is he a man? A demon? With each new word he speaks, she can taste the primal power that seems a part of his very being. She stands before Lahabrea, equally bold and uncertain. The cold shivering over her skin contrasts sharply with the heat lying just under it. “_ Show me _.” 

Here was their nemesis demanding, _ begging _ , to feel the full weight of his might. To pull back the curtain and see Hydaelyn’s lies for what they were. A smile laced with sadistic malice pulls his cheeks taught under his mask. Oh, there are so many things he could show her - heights and depths she’s never dreamt of. Though by the way she looks at him, it’s apparent that she’s at least imagined… Hmm. This is not how he’d planned on disrupting history, but her _ enthusiasm _ could certainly serve to keep her distracted from her heroic destiny. This was a strange chapter they seemed set to pen, indeed. “You don’t know what you are asking.” At his words, the light in her room wavers, a simple parlor trick to test her further. “Once you learn what I am, what I can do, there’s no going back.” 

With a determined shake of her head, she casts his warnings aside. “I’m not afraid. I told you I want to learn everything you can teach me and…” The words die on her tongue as she struggles to tell her shadowy instructor the effect his very presence has on her. Instead, Aira takes a step forward, her trembling fingers reaching up into his hood to caress his jawline. She’s almost shocked to find his flesh warm. _ No monster then, perhaps? _ The courage she’s managed to pull together starts to crumble as Lahabrea’s lips, _ so close she could touch them _, form a stern, straight line. Of course, she’s overstepped her bounds… but in accepting his offer, she’d already cast off any care for taboo. 

She takes a breath, memorizing the feel of him against her fingertips and the beautifully potent taste of his aether before she loses the chance forever. _ Idiot woman, throwing away the opportunity to learn from this man, and for what? _ The moment she begins to pull away, she's stopped by a black-gloved hand wrapped tight around her wrist. Unable to breathe, to blink, she’s trapped in the gaze of the mask’s glaring eyes. The beat of her heart is the only sound in the room for several long seconds until he speaks, voice low and dark. “I see you’ve made your choice.” 

Still holding tight to her wrist, Lahabrea returns her gesture. She shivers as he trails one finger from the soft spot just below her ear along her jaw. The tip of his metal talon follows in the wake of black leather, leaving a burning line across her skin, on the very verge of pain. Aira lets out a quiet whine. Every muscle in her body tenses as she fights to keep still, wanting to run, wanting to throw herself at his dark mercy. _ This is insanity! _

Though her desire is written in her every trembling movement and shaking breath, Lahabrea lets curiosity guide him, skimming along the edge of her aetheric body. It’s an exquisite knotwork of conflicting emotions. These _ people _, always fighting against what their soul wants, torturing themselves and those around them. Images of what she’s trying to deny flicker and flit beneath the veil of propriety she’s struggling to keep in place despite her earlier boldness. Her depraved creativity flares against his soul in a way he hasn’t felt in far too long. 

Unable to flee the grip he has on her wrist, afraid to move too much for fear of his talons cutting into her, Aira keeps herself as still as possible. Every trembling breath is a slow and deliberate thing as she wills herself to endure. Lahabrea’s exploration stops with his finger at the tip of her chin as he… _ does what? _ There’s a sense of pressure, like a sudden shift of the weather portending a storm. Her eyes dart across his form for any sign of what’s to come. _ Would he kill her for being so presumptive? Leave and never return? _A shiver runs over her shoulders and down her back as the pressure relents the slightest bit and Lahabrea smiles again. 

That mask so completely hides the intent behind his expression that the fear she’d tamped down comes back in force. She grits her teeth to stop them from chattering. At last, he speaks. “Fascinating. I asked nothing of you in return for lessons we’ve yet to begin. Yet already you wish to serve me and bow to me.” 

“What?!” Her retort comes out as a squeak as she’s forced to consider if mindreading is one of his tricks. “I never…”

“Your denial bores me,” he hisses. “Tell me plainly. Do you want this or shall I forget about your impropriety and begin the lesson anew?”

“I…,” she stutters, every part of her body shaking but for the arm he still holds in place like an iron vice. 

His lip twitches in impatience. “Answer me. Yes or no?” He’s never given this sort of consideration to any of the convenient shells he’s poured himself into through the centuries. They had no chance to protest. But with what she’s asking for, he’ll have none of it if she refuses to acknowledge clearly what she wants. 

Seeking to steady herself, Aira takes a deep breath and makes her choice despite survival instincts screaming at her to fight him. “I… yes. Though you seem to already know the answer.”

Aira shivers again when his free hand moves to her throat, fingers splayed across it. His touch is light and he doesn’t bring those claws to bear, but it’s all too easy to imagine what he could do were he so inclined. “Yes, but I needed you to admit it,” he replies, dragging his fingers down her neck with excruciating slowness. The confirmation that he had read her mind left her feeling unbearably exposed, though… He’d sought her explicit consent regardless. Beyond that, she wouldn’t have to suffer the mortification of giving word to her desires… “I’m glad you find our arrangement agreeable,” he says with a half-hearted snort. 

The tips of two of his claws dance at the delicate skin of her neck and he uses his hold on her to force her to take a step back. She nearly falters but his grip on her wrist keeps her standing. She lets him steer her until her knees bump against something and she finds herself sitting in her plush reading chair. He follows after quickly, looming over her, letting her arm drop so he can brace himself against the tall chair back. The light of her room fades as she’s surrounded so by Lahabrea and the aphotic depths of his aether. 

She can scarcely breathe, feeling like a passenger as the needy creature rising up within her takes over. Pleasing him, worshiping him… the wordless repetition of these desires fills her mind, chasing away other thoughts. Aira’s head tilts back and she catches another glimpse of Lahabrea’s red-fanged visage and the curve of his jaw before her eyes flutter shut. The pressure on her throat ceases. She awaits his touch, breathless with anticipation, and her patience is rewarded. Curiously gentle, he begins his exploration, fondly petting her head, caressing her cheek. He runs the back of his gloved hand along the other side of her face and she feels the metal ornamentation there, thrilling to the touch of that cool metal against her burning skin. 

With her budding magical sight she senses his aetheric form though it is indistinct and spans far larger than it should by rights. _ By the Twelve… what is he? What monster is this that I’ve welcomed here? _Her idle wonderings are answered by quiet laughter closer to her ear than she expected. “You think you see me now, do you?” he asks, in a mocking whisper. Aira’s eyes snap open, and all she sees is red in a sea of pitch. The demonic visage glares unblinking as his touch continues down to her neck, to the base of her throat. She swallows hard against the feel of those metal ornaments against her sensitive skin. Her lips part, and any answer she may have offered comes out only as a muted whine. “No questions, now. I’ll show you soon enough,” he snaps. 

Never before has she been spoken to so nor imagined enjoying such a thing. Heat rises to Aira’s cheeks at the unspoken admission. A shiver runs through her and when it reaches her legs she presses her thighs together unconsciously, making her acutely aware of the effect he’s having on her. Her nails dig into the arms of the chair as she rides out the sensations. 

He does nothing to stop her from seeking that small gratification, but Aira’s whimper is silenced by a metal claw pressed to her lips. That simple gesture leaves her lightheaded, and against her better judgment, her mouth opens slightly, entreating, picturing what she wants in her mind’s eye. Lahabrea traces her lower lip with the back of his talon then eases the tip into her waiting mouth. With a drawn out moan, she accepts, swirling her tongue around it, careful to avoid piercing herself upon the point. He backs off enough to crouch before her, and she follows, continuing her lewd adoration of him. 

Unsure of what morbid fascination compels him, Lahabrea offers her another wicked metal point and she gives it the same treatment. Her soul trembles against his and he lets himself taste some of her apparent zeal for him. Beneath his mask, his eyes widen. There’s a maddening sweetness there that he’s never known, never craved. It’s curious, and it makes him want to test her further, see what else can provoke such a response. 

Her thoughts lap against his soul in fitful waves, a litany of pleas for more. Looking up at her now, he gauges her every reaction, awed at how eagerly she accepts him. The pads of his gloved fingers rest on her bottom lip before he judges he can go no further without hurting her. The little tears forming at the corner of her eyes, the depravity of her greediness for him, a rivulet of spittle making it’s way down her chin… so many unexpected reactions, from her, within him. Lahabrea places a hand on her cheek and whispers, “Disgusting,” the word conveying more fondness than malice. 

He slides his claws out of her mouth, willing them clean again with a thought. Aira gapes up at him, still silently asking for more, for things he simply cannot give her, not the way she wants. When he stands again, she releases her death-grip on the chair and practically lunges for him then hesitates before letting her fingers rest on his hips. Lahabrea fights an urge to back away, unused to a mortal daring to lay hands on him. The woman’s wishes are a chaotic and needy thing. She tumbles forward as he takes a step back and comes to rest on her knees before him, pawing at his legs, clumsily tugging at the hem of his robe. 

Aira could think of little else than tasting more of him, but he waves off her attempts and moves further away. She’s at a loss - tides of desire roiling within her with no aim but him, and every time she blinks for longer than the briefest of seconds, she sees that monstrous shadow again. Would a being so alien as he seems to be even welcome her attempts to please him? 

As he strides across the room, she catches the glint of silver accents on his black boots, sensuous curls ending in wicked points. They’re beautiful, as are the intricate sigils upon his robes, blue fading to purple. She’s endlessly curious about his garb - what is the meaning behind those graceful golden pauldrons? What face hides behind that carven glare, beneath the hood? A realization clicks into place in her mind as she watches him… it’s not just her imagination. _ This man casts no shadow! _

Her mind swims, trying to formulate an explanation, but he’s already walking back towards her, the crystal dangling from his fingers, swaying on its cord. The pull it radiates seems stronger now, and she yearns to reach out for it. “Eager to see what we can do with this?” She nods before consciously making the decision, eyes still on the crystal and it’s seething black core. 

“A quick lesson, then.” He helps guide her back into the chair, keeping a hand on her shoulder until he’s sure she’s steady. “That which you saw of me in your mind is closer to my true nature than the form you see now. This,” he says, gesturing at himself, “is a convenience mostly wrought by expectation and assumption.” Aira tilts her head at him. He lets out a breathy laugh when he realizes she’s alert enough to mentally hit back with something akin to _ be more clear, damn you. _

“I will show you instead, as promised. Assuming you are willing - and _ don’t _ nod before I’ve explained myself. One of the powers bequeathed unto me is the means to pour my soul into another’s physical form, allowing me to take on their shape as you would garb yourself.” Aira’s essence unconsciously retreats from him, but not before he catches a shimmering of excitement tinged with primal fear. “Oh yes, just as you fear and hope, this allows me to exert any measure of control over the subject that I wish.” 

She gazes up at him, horrified and fascinated at his promise. What he proposes shouldn’t be possible, yet she believes him. “I… you’ll release me when I ask?” 

“Eventually, yes,” he quips, smirking down at his shameless apprentice. 

An unspoken agreement passes between them. Aira knows she’s mad for wanting this, but if she’s understanding him, he would share in whatever sensations she felt as well. Giving up control to someone, some_ thing _, she has no reason to trust… by all counts, it should be abhorrent, but she’d never forgive herself if she rejected this chance as every part of her that isn’t ruled by logic wants it. “Then teach me your secrets, and do with me what you will.” 

The Warrior of Light sits before him, yearning for him to fill her with his very being, for him to possess her. What an _ exceptional _ turn of events. This is a victory for Zodiark, for his kin, and retribution for her past sins against them. But in this moment, the thrumming euphoria that thrills through his aether is an entirely selfish thing. The once-hero, all his. This woman, desiring him beyond reason - It inflames his very being in a way he hasn’t felt in thousands of long, frustrating years. For once, the Speaker finds himself at a loss for words. 

He threads his claws through the cord upon which the crystal hangs, and approaches her. Aira bows her head to accept his gift. With great care, he brushes her hair to the side so she can wear her new necklace comfortably, and he steps back to admire his work. 

There are many ways to utilize a crystal of Darkness. Applied thusly, it is as a key that unlocks the unconscious barriers these shattered beings live behind, and it functions as a conduit. 

Aira feels the crystal laying heavy against her chest. The aether within it feels like a creature coiled and ready to pounce. She looks up to Lahabrea, and the smile he wears seems much the same. The masked mage raises his right hand up high, his talons gleaming in the remaining candlelight. He brings it down before his face and in its wake appears a glowing red sigil. Its intricate pattern reminds her of a morpho, or a demon with its wings spread wide and resplendent, and the power it radiates is dizzying. Lahabrea grasps her chin betwixt his fingers, leaning in close. The smile he wears now is wild, manic, but she senses there’s a question here too. 

Surrendering her final chance to escape, she nods, and he disperses. 

All around her is writhing darkness. As when he first appeared to her, she can feel it against her skin and her aether. Its ghostly touch settles over her, feather-light and ticklish at first. With no idea what to expect and no few misgivings about her decision, instinct tells her to recoil from it, but there’s no escape. It’s everywhere. It slips down the neck of her robes, up her sleeves, roiling and undulating against her skin like a thousand mad tongues. If she’d had the air for it she’d scream, but when she opens her mouth to take a gasping breath, it invades there too. For a terrible moment, her throat feels full to bursting and she’s sure she’ll suffocate. The edges of her vision cloud with white static and she can feel her consciousness begin to retreat to escape the overwhelming onslaught of sensations. 

Then all at once, it stops. She lets out a sobbing breath and clutches at the arms of her chair, fighting to steady herself and regain a semblance of composure. As her breathing stills, the room is silent. There’s no sign of Lahabrea but for the crystal around her neck and the faintest sense of foreign energies percolating beneath her skin. 

And that’s when her hands release their anchor and rise up before her face of their own accord. They turn this way and that as though Lahabrea is inspecting his work through her eyes. A rumble of smug satisfaction passes through her. Thoughts arise in her mind, in his voice, in hers, in layers that leave the origin muddled -_ (So warm, so willing) If you focus, you may wrest control back if you feel you must (you don’t desire to), but I would prefer you didn’t _ ** _(test me)_ ** _ . _

The mind-bending cacophony makes her vision waver for a moment, but she forces herself to focus on moving her fingers. She manages to make one flex, but the movement is jerky and uncoordinated. _ Well done (don’t do it again). _

Aira’s right hand starts to move again in the same unnatural way, starting and stopping. 

_ Do you still wish to fight me on this? _

_ No, but I can’t help it. _

_ You’re afraid. _

_ Yes. _

There’s a murmur of amusement tempered with some small part of affection, and her right hand settles on the opposite arm. She can’t help but wonder at the absurdity of watching her own fingers being used to shakily pet herself. Yet the touch is soothing, and as she relaxes into it, the movements turn into a soft and gliding exploration. Each finger gets its own reverent attention, gentle strokes and caresses. Control switches to the other hand, giving the first the same sweet attention. Hands slowly rise to trace the curve of her cheekbone, a thumb running along her jawline. _ Better? _ Aira replies aloud with a breathy, “yes.” 

She leans into her own touch as it continues down her neck and along her collarbone, keeping up the same slow and rapturous pace. When they start to undo the clasp at the neck of her robe, she can’t help giggling. Soon, her robe falls open to the waist and she shivers, the fire having long dimmed to embers. Aether within her shifts, summoning up a familiar spell and a flick of her hand sends a small sphere of fire into the hearth, filling the room again with warmth. 

Her mental _ “thank you” _ is answered with a silent idle humming. Fingers dance down her breastbone, and her earlier ardor rekindles as she cups her breasts, thumbs each circling a nipple. “Ah… Lahabrea…,” she moans to the empty room. His reply blends with hers, enjoying the same sensations she does. After a moment of this, she suddenly stands up and walks towards the bed, falling upon it, her head comfortably nestled against her pillows. 

Though her body is unfamiliar to him, and he rarely has spent time in a female form - simply because he detested how men of power in this world tended to feel obligated to take liberties with the women of their inner circle - by sharing her every reaction, he easily discovers the ideal ways to evoke the most delectable reactions. He runs their shared hands over the curve of her hips then to the buckle of her belt, fumbling with it blindly for a moment before it’s no longer an obstacle. Comfort and pleasures were not things he normally bothered seeking but he has to admit that all of this is a rare treat he wishes to savor. 

Aira’s robe falls open, leaving her in nothing but sleeves, boots, and cotton tights. She trembles as a nearly ticklish touch makes its way along her ribs, over her belly. _ More, please… _The thought rises unconsciously with a pang of hungry impatience. The other presence within her almost sighs, not wanting to rush this but sharing in her sudden need. Together they undo the drawstring of her tights, and her heart, their heart, races. Her hands slither under the hem, following the curve of her thighs, inching closer to the slick heat between. 

When at last he guides her to drag a finger through her sopping folds they both are overwhelmed by the intensity of it - of finally giving in to the need that had been building for so long. He guides the tips of two fingers into her, and they gasp together. An image of her open window and vague occupants of nearby rooms comes to mind and she bites back the moan that seeks to escape her lips. Quickly they discover cadence of touch she craves, pleasure building steadily but not too fast. On a whim, he brings two of her fingers to her lips. She mentally recoils at the idea, but her hesitance is ignored and she begins sucking on each in turn as he savors her essence. The delicious perversity of it all strikes her, driving her closer to the edge. Aira writhes against the sheets whimpering, begging for her inevitable release. 

Pleasure coils tight within the body they share, their touch becoming fervent, no longer seeking balance between too much and too little. The muscles in her thighs and belly clench, trembling. Then all at once they crest, floating, falling. The sensation is mirrored perfectly between both souls, reflected over and over into a crescendo that leaves Aira feeling entirely untethered from the moorings of her physical form, expansive and eternal. She tumbles through swirling darkness, seeking she knows not what, until she glimpses it - a crystal not unlike that which she wears but even more magnificent - Instinctively she knows it to be the very heart of Lahabrea’s being - a savagely beautiful thing, ancient, forbidden, welcoming. 

Then she blinks, left with only a memory of that vision, the waves of carnal satisfaction she rides, and Lahabrea crouched on the floor next to her bed, panting from exertion. It takes her a moment to find her voice, her throat dry and breath shallow. “Lahabrea… are you alright?”

“Fine. I’m… fine,” he replies, voice ragged. “I need but a moment.” In all his time, he’d never attempted anything quite like that. Elidibus had warned him about repeatedly pouring himself into these husks of humanity for frivolous reasons, but obviously this particular application had never come up in conversation. It hadn’t been too much for him to handle until Aira had found her way into his soul in turn, creating an aetheric feedback loop between them. He’d have to make notes on this once he’d taken time to recover…

He looks up at the disheveled woman on the bed, her hair in tangles. There’s worry in her eyes - concern for _ him _. “I need to go.” 

She frowns. “Will you return to me?” 

That she’s already mourning the lack of his presence is clear. A strange chapter, indeed, yet… “I will. I swear it.” His response comes not only out of duty to the task he was given, and before he lets himself ponder it further, he releases his connection to this world and settles back into the rift. 

There is a robed figure there to greet him, his mask decorated with six thin eye-slits, giving him the appearance of a lurking insect. Lahabrea swears silently. If any of his peers would catch on to what had transpired between him and the Warrior, it would be that letch Nabriales. He doesn’t need to see the man’s face to know his grin is accompanied by an eyebrow arched in amusement. “_Not one word, _” he snarls, striding down the long stone hallway. 

***

Aira moans and trails a hand over her naked chest as she lowers herself down onto Lahabrea’s cock once more. Though his body doesn’t feel pleasure in the same way hers does, he’d acknowledged her needs and given in to her wishes to try something more like she was used to. Not yet ready to open up a connection as strong as they had several nights hence, he sups on the vestiges of her ardor and the way her soul flares bright any time he touches her. 

As their bodies meet over and over, the bed creaking insistently, she notices the hood of his robe beginning to slip off his head. She catches a glimpse of blonde wisps of hair before he removes his gloved hand from her hip and yanks the hood back into place. “But… I wish to see what you look like,” she implores. 

He says nothing in reply, refusing to dignify her subsequent pout with a response. No one had seen his true face since… His head swims when he tries to think back that far. Too many of his memories from before the sundering are tattered things, singed or waterlogged pages of long-neglected tomes - Fragmented like the world they had lost. Perhaps a consequence of how he chose to fight in the name of Zodiark or simply due to the age of his adamant soul. It didn’t matter either way. Aira’s fascination was with a mysterious masked mage, not the tired eyes behind the visage. 

With a growl, he casts aside those concerns, choosing to focus instead on his unlikely partner’s enjoyment of this form. Her lustful delight electrifies his being, chasing away his momentary melancholy. The woman riding him with wild abandon looks down at him and he catches a mischievous glint in her eyes. She falls upon him, her chest pressed against the front of his bunched up robes. Her seeking fingers trace the edge of his mask, a strange sensation. Just as he begins to enjoy it, he realizes her intent. 

Before she knows it, clawed fingers bite into her wrists and Lahabrea rolls on top of her, pinning her arms above her head. “Do. Not.” Any complaints she might have uttered are silenced when an unseen force grips the back of her thighs, leaving her helpless while he mercilessly fucks her. She bites her lip to hold back her moans, tasting copper. Even he is unable to stay silent this time, groaning and grunting as she writhes under him. He idly considers letting her choose a body for him to take to… Though not as intense as before, the sweet taste of her release fills his aetheric body, his soul, and his thoughts flit away as he rides out the shared ecstasy. He senses some discomfort from her, so he releases her arms and rolls off of her. 

Aira. Not given the chance to become the Warrior of Light, instead reveling in having become a consort of darkness. He’s yet to teach her anything beyond a fair range of Zodiark’s blessings, which were surely not meant to be used as such… but she hasn’t pressed the matter either. 

“Thank you, ah, for indulging me,” she utters before closing her eyes and settling back into the pillows. “You enjoyed it too, yes?” 

He nods. “Yes.” 

His soul stirs at her smile. 

Too restless to linger, he sits up to leave. A foolish whim overtakes him and he disperses the glove from one of his hands before cupping her warm cheek. She sighs and nuzzles into it, kissing his palm. “You’ll return, won’t you?” she whispers. 

“I will.” 

***

Lahabrea lurks in the rift, far outside of Hydaelyn’s wretched influence. He knows his task is vital to the restoration of the star, but it doesn’t feel like work. It feels like idleness and frivolity. Igeyorhm assures him that the part he played last time, harrying the scions, inciting the beast tribes into calling forth their little gods, is being handled readily. Without a light-blessed hero to meddle in their plans, every day brought them closer to the next Rejoining.

Despite that, he can’t shake the irritating restlessness that plagues him. 

***

Before the fire can fade completely, Lahabrea stokes it back to life with his magic and leans back in Aira’s reading chair. He can’t shake the thought that he needs to be out there as part of the campaign, but there’s nothing else to do. 

He looks again to the pale ceiling beams of the small house Aira now owns in The Goblet. Igeyorhm insisted on using her connections to the Holy See of Ishgard to pay for it, allowing for more privacy for Aira’s lessons and forging another shackle to tie her to the Paragon. The basement is well stocked with ritual tools yet to see any use, as they’ve found other ways to abuse their relative isolation. 

He knows the Warrior will ask more of him. She always does. She’s insatiable in her craving for knowledge, and right now, he’s the focus of all of her attention. The more time they spend together, the more leeway he gives her as well. 

The door to the bedroom opens and she calls to him. There he finds her reclining on her large four poster bed, bedecked in a black silk ensemble she’d recently commissioned, meaning it as a gift for him. It practically floats over her form, too sheer to hide anything, accentuating her curves perfectly. “Lovely,” he whispers. 

She beams up at him, eyes full of adoration. He kneels next to her on the bed, for a change feeling overdressed for the occasion. So, when she reaches up to push his hood back, he doesn’t stop her. Aira runs her fingers through his shoulder length blonde hair, toying with the small braid he’s always worn, though he’s long forgotten when he started that habit. Her joy at finally seeing more of him is bright and noisy, making him laugh. It’s then that he realizes that her feelings are beyond meer fascination with a mystery. He’s long past questioning anything that she does. She’s no creature of reason. And for him? He’s in no mood to question his own motives either. Instead he leans back against the headboard and casts away everything he wears but his mask. 

Aira’s soul blazes with delight and hunger as she kneels next to him, letting her hands wander over his form. Though her physical touch usually does little, the intent behind it sparks against his aether in a way that resembles the intended sensation. Had he breath, it would quicken - what is this unexpected consequence? The only way to know is more experimentation. 

He guides her onto his lap and she wraps her legs around his waist, snuggling up close against him. “Lahabrea,” she murmurs against his shoulder. Like a spell, his name on her lips charges the very air. They share a slow and gentle exploration of each other, and he finds he enjoys the feeling of silk against her skin and under his touch. Her voice comes again, so quiet he has to strain to hear her words even with her breath tickling at his ear. “Please. I want to see your eyes. I want to kiss you…” 

The mask. He knew she would ask this of him one day. For a long moment, he remains silent, focusing only on the new sensations stirring in his soul, his aether, his form. He gently pushes her back so he can see her face. There’s no treachery there, only feelings he doesn’t have the words for. “Aira. You are unreasonable. Unfathomable.” He laughs at her little frown. “And, you may be the first to have seen my true face since a thousand years before the start of history as you know it. Mayhap someday I’ll tell you the truth to that story too, as much as I recall.” With that he places his hand over his mask and pulls it away, letting it vanish into the air like scattered petals. 

And he feels it when she traces his cheekbones, her touch as soft as the silk she wears. Her adoration resonates through him as she places her fingers against his temple, her gaze meeting his eyes for the first time with no barriers between them. “You’re beautiful,” she breathes before leaning in to kiss him at last. 

***

For the first time in ages, he lets himself relax and just be. As Aira sleeps, curled up against him in pure contentment, Lahabrea lets his mind wander. 

Images come to him like a dream, and he finds himself stepping out from behind a curtain to a waiting crowd who cheers at his appearance. Most of the Amaurotines that fill the stands of this circular outdoor arena are young ones, eagerly clapping and shifting in their seats to get a better view of the stage. Lahabrea raises his arms dramatically, focusing the mana within him. Before him, his creation begins to form. Intricately detailed armor, a design he’d seen in a foreign land assembles itself from the ground up, starting with a pair of heavy sabatons and greaves, coming together until it towers over even him. On a whim, he adds a flowing cape to his creation.

The audience is silent, waiting, so when he claps his hands together the sound resonates through the arena. A formless spirit fills the armor, bringing it to life to the joy of the audience. He can’t help but smile at the infectious glee of the little ones. There was really no need to showcase his creations like this, but he’d learned that he had somewhat of a fan following and he didn’t want to let them down, even if it kept him busy. Well, he preferred it that way. There was always work to be done and he was glad to do it. This beautiful world deserved his best at all times. 

The vision fades as the woman next to him stirs and rolls over to face him again. She pushes herself up so that she can kiss the forehead of his mask before snuggling against his chest and swiftly drifting off again. 

Lahabrea wraps an arm around her and wonders at the memory that her presence has somehow returned to him, no doubt. As the living armor begins going through the various battle poses he had set it to complete, one of the crowd catches his eye - Full of obvious adoration, she waves to him, cheering him on from her place high up in the stands. 


End file.
